Shakespeare and Valentines
by MizzMarvel
Summary: UPDATEDCOMPLETED. Chapter 6 Pietro finally finds his answer. Voted THE angstiest Rietro around by me and one friend. Thanks for the support!
1. Rogue Emulates Hamlet

Disclaimer - Characters aren't mine, they belong to the official Marvel. And I also quote William Blake later on. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
The clock on the wall ticks endlessly; I am aware of nothing else. Well, that's kind of a lie. There's a Hamlet test in front of me, a smooth sheet of goldenrod I stare at brainlessly, a pen in my hand. My mind's really in my backpack, where, tucked away neatly in the pocket of my binder, is a modest Valentine's Day card. I know it explicitly, a glossy white cover decorated by a plain red heart. No words, nothing fancy, unsigned. A card for Pietro.  
  
"Ten more minutes," the English teacher says, gesturing towards the clock.  
  
Jesus. In record time, I scribble the simplistic answers in all the blanks - Hamlet's mother is Queen Gertrude, Ophelia is manipulated by Polonius, the castle's name is Elsinore. And the hard one - what is Hamlet's tragic flaw? (Indecisiveness, according to my teacher, though are potentially dozens of perfectly good answers. But hey, why overcomplicate things?) After finishing, I use the remaining minutes to contemplate the card some more.  
  
To send or not to send.  
  
The bell rings, and I am free for the rest of the day. I haphazardly toss my test on the teacher's desk, not really caring whether it lands perfectly in sync with the other papers or floats down into the darkness, never to be seen again. I wish I could say the same about my life. As I walk out of the door Risty runs up behind me and grabs my arm. Involuntarily, I cringe.  
  
"Rogue, come with me to my locker, okay?" she asks in her crisp British voice.  
  
"Uh, okay," I say in southern voice.  
  
"That test was really hard, heh?" She runs her fingers through her short violet hair and shakes her head. "I mean, we're only fifteen...how much can they expect from us?" Risty turns to me, suddenly watching silently for my answer.  
  
In true test of dramatics, I laugh lightheartedly. "Oh, Ah know. Ah didn't even read the play. But at least if we all fail, she'll have to curve it, right?"  
  
For some reason, her eyes narrow slightly before she replies with a smile, "That's true. I suppose I really shouldn't bother worrying."  
  
"Yeah." But all I can see is the heart, oblong and cherry-colored. Why shouldn't I send it?  
  
We stop in front of Risty's locker, and she spins out the combination expertly. "Sorry about this, but I forgot to give you something at lunch." She yanks the locker open, searches for a moment, then pulls out a small pink envelope. "Here," she says, and hands it to me.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"A valentine!" Risty grins brightly. "Open it!"  
  
Awkwardly because of my gloves, I break the seal and pull out the card. A smirking cartoon zombie graces the cover, holding out an apparently still-beating human heart. I genuinely have to laugh.  
  
"'For You Valentine, My Heart,'" I read out loud. "Risty, this is sick."  
  
"I know. I got it at the Hot Topic. So you like it?"  
  
"It's great! Thanks."  
  
"Fab. Well, I've got to run." She slams her locker closed. "See you tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Bye!" Risty turns and hurries down the hall.  
  
"Bye," I murmur, staring down at the little monster. Then I remember my ride.  
  
"Oh God!" I run down the corridor, the opposite direction of Risty, and burst out the door into the parking lot. Scott's little red car is gone, along with my hopes of avoiding the long walk home. "Dammit!" I stomp back inside, letting the huge door slam into place behind me.  
  
And there in front of me is Pietro. I freeze as it all comes back to me. The backpack, the binder, the pocket, the card. The card that he will receive and will say everything with no words - that I appreciate him, that he's my friend, that I honestly care, all the things I have to much trouble saying. He'll know; he understands me better than anyone else, Brotherhood or X-Men.  
  
But...he's laughing, talking with Tabitha. She watches him flirtatiously and places a hand on his arm. She's so much or what I'm not - pretty, open, fun, colorful, accessible...touchable.  
  
I abruptly turn on my heels and head towards my own locker.  
  
Why am I upset? Hell, we're just friends, not even that anymore since I went traitor - NO I am NOT a traitor, I have to stop thinking that. The X-Men are my only hope, they can help me, they care...well, at least I think...No. Just stop it, Mara.  
  
I shouldn't be surprised either. I mean, I WAS at the dance. I saw him so arrogant, with four girls hanging all over him like cats in heat. He didn't even look at me except that once, fleetingly, as he first walked in. I am just the past to him. And to think I wore orange that night 'cause once he told me it was his favorite color.  
  
Whatever, whatever, whatever. (Jeez, I sound like Kitty.) Just don't think about it.   
  
I wish Graydon were here to give me advice.  
  
I turn the dial on my locker carefully, but at some point I mess up and have to do it again. My mind's just not there right now, it's gone, floating, desperately avoiding the misshapen, bleeding crimson heart on the white that occupies the pocket, in the binder, in the backpack, on my back. It was a stupid idea anyway. Cards are stupid. Well, except the one Risty gave me - that one's pretty cool. Even though I'd never be able to tell her, she's probably my best friend, except for Pietro - no, he's NOT my friend anymore, doesn't even look my way...aw, screw it.  
  
Finally, I get my locker open. As I rifle through the odds and ends I've got stuffed in there, I notice something small and ivory teeter for a second, then tumble off the top of a messy stack of papers. It floats silently to the ground and I stoop to pick it up. On the front, in a fluid scrawl, is my name, or one of them. Rogue.  
  
Unlike Risty's, this envelope is not sealed, so with my gloves it's a little harder to pull out the card. The cover's picture is a lipstick smear of a kiss, the same scarlet color of the heart I shouldn't be thinking about. I open it slowly and find no syrupy-sweet Hallmark greeting, just words formed in the same sprawling script:  
  
"'The look of love alarms  
Because 'tis filled with fire;  
But the look of soft deceit  
Shall win the lover's hire.'  
  
That's why I went to Sadie's with those other girls. And it worked, right?"  
  
That bastard. But I continue reading.  
  
"And you're pissed. So I'm not going to ask you to 'be mine', but so you know...I'm yours."  
  
A sweet bastard.  
  
"If you don't still hate me, meet me here after school tomorrow? I'll be waiting. Always, Pietro"  
  
I press the card against my chest and sigh shakily. My eyes fill with tears, not with happiness or relief or any of the obvious emotions. My tears are salty with sadness, because even though this was what I'd been hoping for the whole damn time, I'm still torn. Should I be here for him tomorrow?  
  
To trust or not to trust.  
  
Dammit.  
  
Indecisiveness really is the tragic flaw.  
  
  
THE END...?  
  
  
Author's Note - OK, not my best work. This was an attempt to get into Rogue's mind, but not totally successful. FYI, Mara is the name I use for her and Graydon is her half-brother. For more info, read "You Can't Go Home Again", but otherwise I think this fic stands on its own. I don't know if I should continue this...it ends decently right here, but with loose ends. What do you guys think? Please review, but please be gentle!! 


	2. Pietro's Translation

Disclaimer - Characters aren't mine, they're Marvel's. The popular TV show I refer to isn't mine either. And just so you know, this is Pietro's POV. And now, by popular demand I continue...  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
Sometimes, we at the Brotherhood House will sit down in the living room and have a conversation. It's really funny to watch, actually; it's like some well-meaning TV sitcom gone awry, us trying to talk intelligently with each other. We're like the Cosby kids, only inverted because we're all white and mostly guys instead of mostly girls. So Tabitha's Theo, the gender minority. Then Todd's Rudy, the small one. Fred's Vanessa, the one with bad hair. Lance is Sandra, the oldest. And that leaves me, Pietro, as Denise...the weird one.  
  
The smart one.  
  
The one who got away.  
  
Back to the conversations, though, none of them has the brains to seriously pull it off, except Lance sometimes. Of course, I am easily capable of interesting conversation, but my mind's going about ten times faster than theirs. I can't sit still and be expected to interact with them at the same time. But I usually sit with them all the same, and to amuse myself I translate what they say into what they're probably thinking.  
  
And that's where we are now, hanging out in the ratty old parlor, Todd crouching by the fireplace, Fred sitting on the floor, and me stretched out on the torn divan. Lance is occupying his favorite overstuffed chair, while Tabitha perches on one of its arms, her back resting against the wall. The silence is awkward, with Freddy and Todd casting forlorn stares in the direction of the busted television. Finally, Tabitha clears her throat.  
  
"So," she says in her I'm-trying-so-hard-to-sound-sultry voice. "Let's play a game."  
  
Pietro's Translation: Please pay attention to me!! My self-worth depends on it!  
  
Todd looks up. "What kinda game?"  
  
Pietro's Translation: I must admit, this peaceful quiet distresses me. Let's fill it with trivial noise.  
  
"The question game. I ask a question, you guys answer it," she answers.  
  
Pietro's Translation: I am unable to think of anything original, so let's pretend that asking questions is fun and exciting.  
  
"Whatever," Lance murmurs, leaning back in his chair.  
  
Pietro's Translation: This is stupid, but I can't think of anything remotely appealing either.  
  
"Well...who is your favorite female pop star?" Tabitha asks.  
  
Pietro's Translation: Don't forget, I'm sexy! This should remind you!  
  
They actually pause, thinking about it, pondering it. I'm totally amazed, for once having over-estimated their intelligence; they're taking her seriously.  
  
Eventually, Fred breaks the silence. "Britney's the best singer."  
  
Pietro's Translation: Britney's got big boobs.  
  
"But Christina's a good singer too. Plus, she's the best dancer, yo," Todd debates.  
  
Pietro's Translation: But Christina's got a nice pair too. Plus, baby got back...yo.  
  
"They're both good," Tabitha breaks in.  
  
Pietro's Translation: I have big boobs AND a nice ass!! Don't forget me!! Pay attention to me!!  
  
Lance shakes his head. "Naw, Mandy Moore's probably the most talented. She can sing AND act."  
  
Pietro's Translation: Mandy Moore's the youngest, just like Kitty. I dig the pre-teen chicas.  
  
"And Jessica Simpson's okay," he continues. "But she has a butt chin."  
  
Pietro's Translation: I...  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
"Wait a minute," I cry, abruptly sitting up. They all whip around and look at me, startled. I guess they assumed I was asleep. In a split second I'm on my feet and standing in front of Lance, pointing a finger in his face. "That's possibly THE dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. First of all, it's called a CLEFT chin, not a butt chin. That's just dumb. Second, how can a cleft chin make her any less talented, intelligent, or attractive? If anything, it gives her extra character!" I pause, suddenly aware of their confused eyes staring blankly at me, and I'm embarrassed, not by my outburst but because of what's really upset me.  
  
"I...I happen to LIKE Jessica Simpson," I finish. Nice job, Pietro. I rush out the door and up the stairs, to my room.  
  
"What the hell's his problem?" I hear Tabitha ask right before I slam the door.  
  
I sigh and fling myself onto the bed. It's really too early to be going to sleep; hell, it's still a little light outside. But sleep is the best way to forget your troubles, so I'm going for it. Just shut up your damn brain for a while, Pietro, and sleep.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
It's not working.  
  
Damn insomnia.  
  
For someone as smart as I am, I'm really an idiot. I mean, I like Rogue, and I'm pretty sure she kind of has the hots for me. This is someone I can talk to, who understands me, who's more than halfway intelligent and pretty, too. Okay, we can't touch each other, but there has to be ways around that. So how do I try to impress her?  
  
I take four other girls to Sadie's.  
  
I shift in bed and settle on my stomach, staring at the wall that used to separate her room from mine. God, I am stupid. I am such a pompous moron. Maybe she liked me before, but now she has to hate me. I hate me. I reach out and touch the wall with the palm of my hand. It's dull and cold, empty.  
  
Rogue looked great in orange that night.  
  
If she were still a part of the Brotherhood, I swear I'd stumble into her room right now, sobbing, begging her to forgive my idiocy. I'd lay my head in her lap as I wept, trying to explain why I act like I do, that sometimes my brain is going so fast that I don't completely think things out. That she's the only girl I've ever really cared about, and she's probably the only person who's ever given a damn about me. That I hate to see her so sad all the time, that I wish she'd share all her secrets with me, and that I like every bit of her, from her big ugly boots to her cleft chin and so much more. I swear I would.  
  
But she's not a part of this house anymore. All I can hope for is the card, my note. Even that was pretty dumb, vain and all. I put in some poem because I know she likes literature, trying to explain, but it just came out like it was written by Pietro the Colossal Ass. Maybe she'll look through it, though, and manage to see that I meant well. Maybe she'll really be there tomorrow by her locker, waiting for me. Or maybe not. Oh God, please be there Rogue.  
  
I shift again onto my back, watching the moonlight play tricks with the shadows on the ceiling. Downstairs, the others still talk and laugh, all briefly content with the world and their small, unifying friendship. And I am alone.  
  
Pietro's Translation: I don't think I'll be going to sleep tonight.  
  
  
Author's Note - This is pretty lame. I hope the next chapter's better. Sorry guys. FYI, this was inspired by my hatred of the phrase "butt chin". My friend Tracey says someone once referred to Rogue as having an "ass chin" once, and that's even worse. (Sorry, Tracey, just a little shout out for ya there.) And I notice that three of my four fics have prolonged scenes set in bed, none of which are sexual. Weird. 


	3. Rogue - Space Case

Disclaimer - Why do I do this every chapter?? Whatever. Characters aren't mine, though that would be cool. And now, chapter three of...  
  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
I have never gotten used to dinner at the mansion. None of us are usually here for lunch, and not everyone shows up for breakfast, so they're bearable. But dinner...! Fourteen teenagers all talking and eating and generally making noise, along with four adults, that's what dinner's like around here. I grew up with quiet meals, just Irene, my brother, and I; this is an extreme opposite.  
  
We're all in the dining room now, as a matter of fact. The food is a standard meat and potatoes deal, which at any given moment someone is reaching for. I'm still picking at my first helping, having no appetite whatsoever. Even though no one's even talking loudly, the din of the room is making me nervous - if I put my hand on the wall, I'd probably feel it buzz. I don't often join in with the table talks anyway, but tonight I ...I have something to think about. I am only vaguely aware of the conversation going on nearest to me.  
  
Scott, who sits a few seats away from me, near the head of the table, turns to Jean. "So, uh, how was your day?" He adjusts his sunglasses and leans back, trying to look so suave.  
  
"Horrible," Jean replies, setting down her fork. "I had to choose between swim team and softball, and I really like them both. It was SUCH a hard decision, but..."  
  
Oh, shut the hell up, Jean. Yeah, that's a real toughie - hmmm, which popularity-inducing sport should I join? I don't understand; I mean, mostly she's tolerable, but how can people NOT hate her sometimes? But look - Scott nods adoringly, Evan quiets when she speaks, Kitty watches, looking up to her as an example. How? Why? Being liked it so easy for her. In all my life, no one has ever looked at me with such loving acceptance, except...  
  
Except...  
  
Graydon. My brother.  
  
The tears instantly prick my eyes, so I bend my head and take a quick bite of food, thus hiding my face. No one notices anyway, of course. It is hard to believe how things have changed between us in less than one year. For fourteen years, he was my protector, teacher, best friend, sole supporter, and hero. He took me seriously, indulged my childish pranks, loved me for who I was. You could look in a million history books and never find a better brother and sister team, I know.  
  
I spear a piece of broccoli with my fork and swirl it in my mashed potatoes. I can't think about this. I SHOULDN'T think about this. Because all it will lead to is that night a few months ago, when I went back to Mississippi. I can't allow myself to think of his harsh words, the disgust in his face when he looked at me, his mutant sister. The...Oh God. I stifle a sob into an awkward cough. For fourteen years, I was the most important person on Graydon's world. And now I am dead to him. If he could reject me so totally, there's no reason why Pietro couldn't too.  
  
Kitty grins wryly as she leans over the table towards Kurt, who sits to my right. "So, how was your date with Amanda last night?"  
  
His smile has a dream-like quality, as does his voice: "It vas vunderful."  
  
I could really use a brother right now.  
  
Kitty has caught my attention. She and Lance aren't even a serious couple; they've only been on one real date. But even so, there's an air of disapproval about the relationship. No one comes out and SAYS anything, but our housemates have a subtle way of showing their distaste. A raise of an eyebrow from Jean, Evan frowning, Kurt's sudden silence, or a slight hardening of Scott's voice. It's small, but it's there. I see how Kitty winces, hurt. And I need to consider the fact that she's way less of an outsider than I am; she's really a part of the group. If they knew Pietro and I were together, I can't even imagine how they'd react, especially since I used to be in the Brotherhood...  
  
Kitty wrinkles her nose at me. "Like, why're you staring at me? Is there something on my face?" She rubs her mouth, searching for some offensive food particle.  
  
"Uh, ya got it," I say. I can feel my cheeks turning red with embarrassment, though no one can see it through my pale makeup. I stare back down at my plate, idly rearranging my carrots. Jesus, would there be any good end to showing up tomorrow? All I can think of is why NOT to go. I mean, Pietro has a lot of great qualities, but SO many bad ones too. He's arrogant, hotheaded, snobbish...  
  
And there I go again! Bad stuff. There has to be a good reason for me to be there for him tomorrow. Think, Mara, think! Give this a shot. You've always seen the damn glass as half-empty, you know. Maybe that's why no one likes you, why you have no real friends to speak of, except for Risty, and even she looks at you funny sometimes. Maybe that's why you're your own mother's had no contact with you since you got to Bayville, not even Irene. Maybe that's why no boy's ever looked at you twice without laughing.  
  
No, that's the clothes and makeup, naturally. Jean gives me alternating looks of pity and revulsion whenever I come back from shopping. Kitty's nicer, telling me that with a little less makeup and more flattering clothes, tons of guys will like me. But no one understands that this is who I am, that I don't want to change, no matter how beneficial it might be. I don't want to be with someone who'll only want me if I alter. And really, I'm lying to myself again. Not EVERY boy thinks I'm a joke. There was Cody, but we all know how THAT turned out. And there's Pietro...  
  
HIM again! I maliciously stab a carrot and shove it into my mouth, chewing angrily. I'm avoiding this decision, I realize now. I'm letting my mind wander, but I have to concentrate. I was ready to give him a Valentine this afternoon, but now everything's changed. Why? I can't express the feeling I have with words, this nameless doubt, and I know my going through with the date won't end well. But then I remember the quick, chaste kiss he gave me once, so soft against my hair...  
  
"Rogue, please pass the butter."  
  
I guess there's really only one question I need to ask myself...  
  
"Rogue? Please?"  
  
Do I love Pietro?  
  
"ROGUE!"  
  
My head snaps up, my attention finally caught. The whole room has gone silent and everyone is staring at me with the same confused expression, except Kurt, who's looking at me with "what's wrong" written all over his face. Uh-oh.  
  
"Huh?" Smooth, Mara. You're quite the oratorical savant.  
  
"Where is your head, Rogue?" Ororo asks, giving me that same frowning look. "I asked you three times to pass the butter."  
  
"Oh."  
  
I pass the butter.  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Okay, a LOT of references to "You Can't Go Home Again." I wanted this fic to stand on its own, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how important Graydon is to this tale. How do you like that ending, eh? Does she love him or not? Well, you'll never know! Bwahahaha!!! Actually, you'll find out around chapter 5 or 6. But that's a while away. Interestingly, this chapter is not as bad as I thought it was when I first wrote it... 


	4. Pietro - It's Not Easy Being Green

Disclaimer - I don't own 'em. If Marvel would like to give them to me, though, I would gladly take them! Here is chapter four of the continuing saga...  
  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
"Don't worry about it," I murmur soothingly. "It's all gonna work out, it'll be okay. You're cool, you can handle it, you - "  
  
There's a sudden pounding on the door. "Hey Pietro, like, I gotta go!" Todd calls, still pounding urgently as he does so.  
  
"Keep your damn pants on," I scream at the door. I turn back around. "You'll be fine," I finish. My reflection in the mildew-ridden mirror blinks in passive agreement. I sigh, sling my damp towel over my shoulder, and leave the bathroom.  
  
I fling the towel through my bedroom's open door as I move towards the stairs. Today I have a good excuse for not hanging it up to dry (not that I ever do) - big things could be happening today. HUGE things, in fact. No time to spend on the trivial. I'm heading down the staircase when I realize that I better play it cool. I glance at my reflection in the mirror Tabitha hung on the kitchen door. I look tired, worried; it's like the stress has been spackled to my face. I smooth out my features into "Cool Pietro", a character everyone is already familiar with. Now I am confident, intriguing, and urbane. With a face like this, who wouldn't want me? Yeah. Keep telling yourself that. I finally push the door open and walk into the kitchen.  
  
In the split second after I walk in, whatever conversation that'd been going on between Fred, Lance, and Tabitha ends. Fred's sitting at the table eating breakfast, naturally (probably more like second breakfast). Lance leans against the wall with a coffee cup in his hand, while Tabitha's perched on the edge of the tiled counter. They all stare at me, quiet. Great. Now that I DON'T want to nap, they're quiet. Thanks a lot.  
  
I open the fridge and glance inside - empty. If there was something in it earlier, it's most likely now on Fred's plate. You'd think...God. I mean, you'd THINK that a father would watch out for his son. I'm not asking for a brand-new Beemer or a huge diamond earring or anything. No, all I ask for is food. I can manage without heat or new clothes or a TV. But food, that's kind of important. We've been scraping every penny for months to pay for groceries, water, electricity, and gas for the Jeep. Todd's been working double time lifting guys' wallets and women's purses, and Freddy's shaking down at least a dozen kids a day for their lunch money. We're living month to month. Jesus, my father got us into this, the least, the VERY least he could do is get us food.  
  
I know he's not dead...I'm no fool.  
  
They're still staring at me, and now Todd's with them, standing next to Lance. "What?!" I cry.  
  
"Uh," Lance starts. "Are you...okay? You really freaked out yesterday."  
  
Oh, so that's it. "I know. I was really tired." My way of apologizing...always avoid directly saying 'sorry'.  
  
"Awww, okay," Fred says, momentarily pausing in between bites. "I was wonderin'...you were actin' really weird..." Now his food's insurmountable glamour overtakes him once more. I am forgotten.  
  
"No food?" I ask  
  
Tabitha rolls her eyes. "What do you think?" She nods in Fred's direction.  
  
Somehow, this diverts his attention from breakfast again. He looks up and demands, "Are you callin' me fat?" His eyes narrow.  
  
She folds her hands together for a moment, then opens them, revealing a dozen or so of her little bombs. "Maybe."  
  
Fred gets up and stands threateningly.  
  
"Aw, man, let's roll. This can't end good." Todd grabs his backpack off the floor and hops out towards the Jeep.  
  
"I agree. You need a ride?" Lance asks me as he sets down his coffee cup.  
  
"No thanks. I want to get there a little early; I'll just run."  
  
He shrugs. "See ya at lunch." He disappears outside.  
  
I take their cue and exit the kitchen just as the series of small explosions start. I remove my binder from the living room table and walk outside. I glance around, making sure that no one's watching. As soon as the coast's clear, I pick up speed and run and run and run...and I'm at school. It's still relatively early, twenty minutes until first period, so not too many people are here yet. But I don't care about people, I care about person...er, a person. Rogue.  
  
I stride through the big doors and into the halls of Bayville High. Quickly, I look around. Nope...no Rogue. I casually wander over to her locker. No here either. Cripes, where is she? Suddenly it occurs to me that this school is kind of big and I've eliminated all of two possible locations. If she's even at school at all, she could be anywhere.  
  
Should I even want to see her? What if she tells me to go screw myself or something? I should just wait till the appointment at the locker. At least then I would have hope, whatever little there is. But to just sit back and twiddle my thumbs...THAT would be torture, pure and simple. I heard somewhere that all advertising promotes wither one of two concepts - the winning of pleasure or avoidance of pain. Mostly, the pleasure one works. I'm obviously not like most people - I'm a pain avoider all the way.  
  
Inspiration - the library! A lot of people go there and hang around for first period. I stroll over in that direction, always scanning faces for that ONE, the important one. When I get there I get there I pause for a moment in front of the simple wooden door. I take a deep breath and push it open.  
  
I was right; there're a lot of people here. Ironically, none of them are reading, mostly just talking and laughing. I don't want to venture in and have to deal with people, so I just stand near the entrance, searing the crowd. No Rogue, no Rogue, no Rogue...oh. At one table, correcting homework, are Evan and Scott.  
  
Hmmm. If I could beat one of them up to a pulp, really smash him up good, which one would it be? A couple of months ago, there'd have been no question about it - Evan. He's been my rival literally since forever. It's always seemed like he got the breaks, the opportunities that made him appear just a LITTLE better than me. But now, at this instant, all of that is meaningless; where it counts, he's no competition. Scott, though...he's my foil, now when it really matters. Like I said before, I'm no fool, I've seen how she looks at him. The wondrous Mr. Summers represents something important to her - I don't know what - and she's drawn to it.  
  
Jesus...look at him. He's talking to Evan and they both laugh. I called him a shadow once, and it fits. Scott is fake, transparent. Why do you want him, Rogue? You can see right through him! I am real, flesh and blood and bone, so much like you, but so not. He's two-dimensional and depthless, he can't know, FEEL this way about you the way I do...  
  
If I could seriously harm one of them, it would be Scott.  
  
The bell rings and everyone collectively starts to gather their things and get up. How long as I standing here? I shake my head to clear my mind and leave with the herd. As soon as I'm in the hall, I look around again. Nowhere, of course. I guess "pleasure" wins out this time. Heh. Yeah, this is a real thrill. I make my way in the direction if my math class. It's weird...she USUALLY does get to school early, with the X-Geeks. I pass the women's restroom. Where could she have...?  
  
The women's restroom.  
  
Oh...God.  
  
Duh.  
  
  
Author's Note - I have found the cure for writer's block. Limeade. It really, honestly, works. I was sitting here, a quarter of this done, languishing in despair. Then I drank a delicious Limeade from Sonic...and things started happening. I theorize that the citrus conducts electricity in the brain. If there's no Sonic near your house, here's the recipe (as far as I can tell):  
  
Sprite + limes = Limeade  
  
Try it. In other news, if things had gone as planned, this would have been the last chapter. But I realized that cutting the story off at that point would be rushing things, so it's grown...there's still more to come... 


	5. Rogue's Decision

Disclaimer - Not mine. Oh, wait! The teacher! She is mine to do with as I please...heeheehee...But now, chapter five of  
  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
"Overall, I was pleased with the results," my English teacher says as she passes back yesterday's Hamlet test. "Most of you didn't score 'below C-level'." She looks up to see our reaction to her joke; there is none. "Um, but I still think you'd all benefit from going over the answer..."  
  
The entire class groans. How stupid. Do they WANT to do actual work? Of course not. But for them, even this is a trial - an hour of listening. Or, better yet, pretending to listen. Come on, pick your battles, people. The teacher drops my test onto my desk. As I immediately turn it face down, I see the grade, one hundred percent, scrawled in red at the top.  
  
"Question one, whose skull does Hamlet find? Now, if you remember Act..."  
  
Hmmm. I got a perfect on MY test. Therefore, I don't see the point in my paying attention. I gaze out the window next to me. It's a remarkably sunny day, especially for February. The snow is almost gone, even; there are only a few small patches of it on the grass. It's abnormal, it's not right. There should at least be frost on the window, for God's sake. I mean, it's February! When I go outside, I should be freezing in my long coat, filthy slush all over the sidewalk, the white mist of my breath when I blow into the air. That's February. This weather is a mistake on Mother Nature's part.  
  
One of the things I really miss about Mississippi is the weather. Sure, there are floods sometimes and mosquitoes overrun everything in the summer. But at least it was almost always WARM. You could count on it, set your watch by it. What should you wear down South? Shorts. What if it's raining? Shorts with an umbrella. Here in Bayville, you never know how it's gonna be. One month it's below freezing, next the sun's shining and little kids are running through sprinklers.  
  
Stability. Stability is all I ask for.  
  
Outside, the track team wanders across the field. They're about to start their sprints. Runners. Yeah, THIS is what I need to be looking at right now. Just another blatant reminder of Pietro and what's going down today. Like I haven't thought about the situation a million times in the last...twenty-four hours? Actually, it's a little less than that.  
  
This morning, I got a ride from Scott, as usual. And as usual, we were ultra-early. They all went off in their own directions, leaving me alone, terrified. Every step I took, I imagined that Pietro was right behind me, demanding my answer, a response I was not ready to give him. He was standing just beyond every corner, inside each doorway, waiting, waiting, waiting. Eventually I realized that the women's restroom was the place to hang out when avoiding a guy.  
  
I spent over an hour in there, bored out of my damn skull. Why didn't I just walk to school? Or take the bus? Then I wouldn't have had to stand by the sink so long, looking like a fool. God, I'm an idiot. I must have looked at my watch nine hundred times, waiting for the bell to ring and release me from the self-induced torture.  
  
You could not believe my gratitude when it FINALLY did. So there I was, just about to run out, when Risty walked in. She smiled at me and made her way towards my sink.  
  
"Oh, there ya are, gehl," she said as she turned the faucet, water rushing out. "I was looking everywhere for ya." She ran her hands under the water, rubbing them together. "How long have you been in here?"  
  
"Just a few minutes," I lied.  
  
"Oh." Risty turned the water off and, holding out her dripping hands, grabbed some paper towels from the machine. "Want to hear something weird?"  
  
"What?" Just hurry, I was thinking. I needed to escape the white-tiled cleanliness of the lavatory.  
  
"Pietro is right outside, staring at the door. Isn't that weird? I didn't know he was that creepy."  
  
"What?! He is?!"  
  
"Yeah. I know, creepy!" She glanced at her own wristwatch and frowned. "I better run. I can't get another detention. See ya at lunch!"  
  
"See ya," I mumbled as she exited, a tight ball of nervousness coiling in my stomach. What was I going to do? I could not, NOT, see him right then. That much I knew. I paced, three minutes left until first period. It hit me - Pietro cannot be late. He hates it, there's no excuse for it. So, if I waited until after the second had rung, he'd be gone and I'd be safe.  
  
But what if he just went ahead and came in here? No, he knows better than that - I'd be liable to tear his head right off. I waited and endured the three extra minutes, till finally the second bell rang. I paused, then, hesitantly, opened the door and peeked outside. He was gone.  
  
Ironically, I was the one who got the detention this morning.  
  
Well, I know what I'm going to do. So I don't need yet ANOTHER reminder, thank you very much, God. I stayed up all night mulling it over, weighing my options, until finally, sometime before dawn, I figured it out. I knew - I KNOW - what to do.  
  
The team is running now, racing never-ending circles on the track. A few are better than others. But none of them, not one, even compares with Pietro's skill. They never can.  
  
"A few of you missed question seven," my teacher drones on in front of the chalkboard. "And we went over this quite a few times. Ophelia's brother is..."  
  
Laertes. Another loving brother who abandoned his sister. If he hadn't gone away, then maybe things wouldn't have been so bad for Ophelia. She would have had someone to depend on. Looking at his personality, he would've told her that Polonius' plan was no good. They could have discussed Hamlet's strange behavior and figured it out. She would've married Hamlet, become Queen of Denmark. They play would've just been another comedy, not the most complex of Shakespearean tragedies.  
  
But no - in her brother's absence, Ophelia was destroyed.  
  
The more I think of the Pietro situation, the more I think of my own brother. At first, it seemed really weird and...wrong. Associating my brother with the guy I like is kind of gross, almost Oedipal. Well, not Oedipal. An Electra complex? That's closer. But anyway, last night I finally realized why I'm doing it. And (almost more importantly), I realized why Graydon's rejection of me still hurts so badly.  
  
For my entire life, I've wanted Graydon to approve of me. Everything I've ever done was for his pride, his pat on my shoulder, his praise. It was because I love him so much, yes, but it went too far. He controlled me. I don't think he knows his power over me, but he uses it. I mean, LOOK at me - it's been months since Graydon chased me away, and I'm still devastated. I mooned around Scott for a while because he reminds me of my brother; they're both put-together and confident...they even look a little alike. Hell, I'm even sitting here obsessing about him right now.  
  
All because I love my brother. And Pietro...yeah, well, maybe I do love him, too. In a different, bigger, scarier way. That's why I can't let this happen again.  
  
If I'm waiting at my locker after school, I'll have already lost. Every decision will be Pietro's to make. What clothes I wear will depend on whether Pietro likes them. The things I do will be for Pietro's sake. Everything will be in his hands and I will lose who I am; I'm only just finding out who that is.  
  
"And number twelve," the teacher's booming voice calls out. "Almost every one of you missed this one, and it's possibly THE most important. Hamlet's tragic flaw is..." She pauses, looking around the class. "Anyone?" No one moves. "How about you, Rogue?" She, along with the whole class, turns, staring at me, boring expectant holes into my face. "I think you got that one right."  
  
I blush, but my voice is steady. "Indecisiveness."  
  
She nods, and everyone turns away.  
  
But that particular flaw no longer applies to me. Yesterday, practically a lifetime ago, a valentine was the most important thing on Earth. Now I've thought it over, and I am stronger, better, and completely free of the madness of Prince Hamlet.  
  
I won't be at my locker for him today. He could wait forever, but I'd never come.  
  
I sound so cold. I WANT to be there. I don't want to imagine the pain on his face, that picture running through my mind infinitely.  
  
I hope he doesn't wait too long. I hope he doesn't suffer.  
  
I'm so sorry, Pietro.  
  
But this is how it needs to be.  
  
  
Author's Note - ...don't hurt me! I can imagine all my faithful readers (all two or three of them) crying out in anguish, a grief-stricken "What the - ?!?!" Remember, there's still ONE chapter left, maybe Pietro will find some other girl and be happy with that. It'll be okay. This is the last Rogue POV chapter, so let's all wave bye-bye to her now...Okay, until next week... 


	6. Pietro Presents the Thrilling Conclusion

Disclaimer - Characters are not mine. Et cetera et cetera. And now, the long-anticipated ending of...  
  
  
  
Shakespeare and Valentines  
  
  
  
If schools still put individual bells in each classroom, I'd be staring at ours right now. Maybe, juuuust maybe, if I were to concentrate all my mental capabilities on the bell, I could force it to ring. Then this horrible, self-loathing day could go either one of two ways. It could become possibly the best day of my entire life. Or alternatively, it could somehow become far more horrible and result in countless amounts of self-loathing. One way or the other...but at least it'd be over.  
  
All of our bells are electronically commanded and situated outside; they're of no use to me. I glance around my Spanish class for an alternative. Well, there's the clock. Dammit, why are seconds so SLOW?! It ticks sluggishly and stares defiantly at me, daring me to lose my temper. All at once I hate it, it along with time in general, and Einstein too, who was the first one to say that time is relative (I think). I want to smash in its smug glass face until my own blood streams down the dingy white walls of the classroom.  
  
But then I might have to stay after school. I can't risk it.  
  
I'm slightly wound up today. I guess that's fairly obvious. My fingernails are all chewed down to the quick and my head is throbbing. I haven't been able to hold down a conversation or concentrate at all. I didn't even realize that I forgot to put in my earring this morning until Todd pointed it out at lunch. I'm a mess. This really sucks.  
  
I mean, seriously, this whole "love" bit is a joke. I'm going through this torture for...who? A Playboy playmate of the year? A Nobel Prize-winning poet laureate? A billionaire tobacco heiress? Or a skinny, moody Goth girl with a bad attitude and heavy makeup? It doesn't take a genius to figure out the whole scenario is ridiculous. Love is like a car wreck - you always have to slow down and gawk, no matter how disturbing.  
  
I turn back to the clock. It stares as steadily as ever, cruel in its efficiency. A little time has lapsed since the period began, but not enough to satisfy me. No way. I return the clock's evil glare, trying to will the spindly hands to move faster. Mentally tampering with time will probably be a lot harder than making the bell ring sooner, but it's worth a shot.  
  
I stare.  
  
It stares.  
  
A mental battle of epic proportions ensues.  
  
The clock wins. Again.  
  
Damn.  
  
Apparently, none of this goes unnoticed. My teacher (or el profesor, as he prefers us to call him, though none of us do) frowns and says sarcastically, "Ah, Pietro piensa que mi clase es aburrida." The other students giggle nervously.  
  
I don't take my eyes off the clock. "Si..." I mumble. "Si..."  
  
I guess he decides to just leave me alone, because I don't hear him answer. Talk about miracles. I finally force myself to tear my eyes away from the clock. I shake my head to clear my thoughts, then settle on staring blankly ahead of me. This class really is boring. It's all lecture and note taking. I don't even have any friends in it. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I had someone to talk and goof around with. Someone...someone like Rogue.  
  
I sigh. Okay, maybe she's a little skinny, but it suits her. Her moodiness isn't really a huge issue - if she can deal with mine, I can deal with hers. The same goes for her attitude. And the makeup...I dunno. I kind of like it. This Rogue situation still sucks to some extent, but it's actually rather amazing; there's not one fault of hers that I can't find some value in. Usually it's the other way around. Love is like a gargoyle on a church - it doesn't make any sense, but it works.  
  
I love her. What a revelation. I love her, but I don't love anyone. Weird.  
  
The school day must end NOW. I have to get to her locker. I have to know. I whip my head around and grimace at the clock once again. The look must scare it - it rings instantly. Everyone begins to get up and gather their things. I grab my binder and only barely contain the urge to REALLY run out. Instead, I intelligently walk at a somewhat normal pace. Well, normal as compared to my preferred speed.  
  
Whoa there, Pietro. Hold your horses. There's no way possible that Rogue'll get to her locker as fast as you will. You don't want to hang around like some perverted loser and scare her away. I slow to an even more normal, casual pace. I mean, she hid from me this morning for a reason, so I don't want to make this worse than it already is. But just 'cause she hid this morning DOESN'T mean she won't be there now. I will be optimistic. I WILL.  
  
At the end of the hall, I stop. Scores of others push past me towards the doors and freedom, but I am immovable. All I have to do is turn the corner. Just a few more steps, and there'll be the answer I've been seeking for just one day, a day that's felt like half a dozen weeks. I take a deep breath. Well, here goes. I turn the corner.  
  
Oh...oh.  
  
Oh God, she...  
  
She...oh. Oh my God.   
  
Rogue, she...she's...  
  
She's not here.  
  
I turn. I run. I shouldn't, but I run. Really run. I'm gone.  
  
Without even knowing it, I end up in the men's room. It's empty, so I'm not embarrassed when I begin to convulse in loud, painful dry sobs. I stand in front of a sink and grip its sides while I press my forehead against the cool mirror. I don't believe this. I've been telling myself that this is what would happen, but I don't believe this. I can't believe this.  
  
Why why why why??  
  
Love is like battling a Hydra - you're so busy fighting all the other heads that you miss one...and that one devours you from behind...  
  
I squeeze my eyes shut, but a few tears leak out. I don't blame her for not being there. Rogue has too much to deal with just trying to co-exist with the X-Geeks...she can't be bothered to deal with me right now. I understand. I get it.  
  
But oh God, how I needed her to be there. For my sake.  
  
I open my eyes and gaze into their red-rimmed reflection in the mirror. I need to get out of here. Not just school - Bayville, too. How could I get through every day, knowing I'm going to see Rogue eventually? I need to run away. Heh, that shouldn't be a problem. Just take off and go, nothing but the clothes on my back. See the rest of the state. Rest of the country. Rest of the world. It shouldn't take more than a few months. Give or take. It should really be...fun. Rewarding. All that.  
  
The first step is getting the hell out of this bathroom. So I do.  
  
I've never moved this slowly before, but I can't will myself to go any faster. My arms and hands hang limp, hardly holding on to my binder. Since it's Friday, almost everyone is already gone; just a few stragglers are wandering around. I guess I'm one of them. But I'm going, don't worry. I just need to get to the doors, that's all. Then I'll be out.  
  
I see them, the doors. It always feels good to burst out of the school doors, but this time it'll be a relief. Like getting a bone marrow transfusion or finding out you've passed the big test or knowing the girl you love loves you, too. Something like that.  
  
Here they are. I place a hand flat against one of the doors, about to push and free myself from Hell. But then I hear a voice just like the wind: "Pietro."  
  
I freeze momentarily, then turn slowly, slower than before. Rogue is in front of me, clutching a card with a red heart, a valentine. She's like a specter. A dream. She stands next to my locker.  
  
I blink, forcing back the tears. "Uh," I stammer. "Uh, I think...I think I said to meet me at YOUR locker..."  
  
Rogue smiles softly, but confidently. "Well, ah decided we should meet at yours. Ah needed to make that decision."  
  
"Ohhh...I understand."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ya don't have to. Not right now, anyway."  
  
"I want you to explain it to me."  
  
"Do ya?"  
  
"Yes." I hold out my hand. "Come with me?"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"I don't know. You decide."  
  
"Ya know just the right thing to say."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind. Let's go."  
  
Rogue places her gloved hand in mine. In a burst of excitement, relief, and absolute joy, I squeeze it. To my surprise, she squeezes back warmly. Then our eyes meet, and she smiles so widely, so happily, so truly. I know my face mirrors hers.  
  
She is beautiful, beautiful.  
  
And so am I.  
  
  
THE END  
  
  
Author's Note - Haha! I tricked you guys! Like I would've had Pietro walk off with some other girl....C'mon, please. That's ridiculous. I hope you enjoyed this well enough - I really worked hard to make this both entertaining and worthwhile. There was a lot of references to Shakespeare and some symbolism I didn't mention...I hope you caught them. If you didn't, eh, no big deal. Thanks so much to all my faithful reviewers - you guys were the reason I was able to finish this!! And it is definitely DONE. I am tired. However, a sequel is not out of the question for some later time...  
  
This work of fanfiction is dedicated to the memory of Kevin Todd Smith, the wonderful actor who portrayed Ares on "Hercules" and "Xena". He passed away on February 15 and will be sorely missed. 


End file.
